


If I Had The Chance (I'd Never Let You Go)

by Meduseld



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: M/M, Mentions of war horrors but nothing explicit, Porn with Feelings, Reunion Sex, they really need to talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 06:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11984133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meduseld/pseuds/Meduseld
Summary: Things don’t quite go as planned when they meet again. Or, reunion!smut.





	If I Had The Chance (I'd Never Let You Go)

The door they’re propped up against creaks ominously and for a moment Farrier has a vision of them tumbling out in a heap of limbs. But before he can go still Collins shifts, tightening his thighs around Farrier’s middle, arching his back and driving him in so deep he sees stars.

He can’t stop himself, can’t help the brutal pace he’s setting. Collins won’t let him, either, hands clawing at his shoulders, his back, trying to keep him close.

Farrier tries to follow, dragging his nose along Collins’ cheek but he wrenches away, titling his neck to keep the other half of his face hidden.

It’s not so bad, Farrier thinks.

The skin is stretched and shiny but not too badly marred. His eye droops now, the lower lid slightly exposed. There’s also a raised red scar on the edge of his nose, making it seem like the wound’s still somehow open.

Fire, probably, but he’d been lucky. The only thing that seemed to touched was the right side of his face.

He’d angled it away when Farrier had turned to him, surprised to be called to on the street.

He can’t quite reconcile the sequence of events that led them here. The only thing that’s clear is the sheer terror and joy of just _running into him_ like they’re ordinary people. Maybe they are, now that the war is over.

Farrier had led him to the pub where he works, tending bar and hauling bottles. It was a empty as a drum, still early morning. They hadn’t quite made it all the way upstairs to the dingy lonely flat that’s Farrier’s now. Neither of them had really bothered with words, not when their bodies had known exactly what to say.

Collins’ mouth still tasted the same and some distant part of his mind wondered if his come did too. But the thought was lost in the press of him, so very close, so eager he bordered on frenzied.

It was hard and rough and fast, like they were still stealing moments in the shed back at base somewhere, just as excited by the smell of fuel and the prospect of flying as each other.

He almost laughs at that, mouth against Collins’ hair. His head twitches slightly, like he’s fighting the urge to turn back to Farrier.

In the end he compromises: if he can’t run his lips all over Collins’ face he can track the lines of his neck, arched and pale, with his tongue. Then he moves lower.

It’s a bad angle but Farrier bites at the dip of his collarbones, rewarded with a shudder and a groan.

It’s a small victory, to know that tiny piece of him is the same, still a secret they share. He can’t say that for the rest of it.

He never got to see Collins fully naked, nor Collins him. He had to piece it together from the glimpses he could steal, the different bits he’d managed to uncover in hurried moments in bunks and barracks and bathrooms. They’ve barely unclothed now, pants around the ankles, or hanging off one in Collins’ case. It makes him angry and he thrusts even harder.

Collins keens and pulls him somehow, impossibly, closer. His cock is hot and red where it’s trapped between them.

The friction must be agony but neither one of them has moved to touch it. Farrier wants to feel it against his skin, knows it’s making a mess of his shirt, but he can’t be bothered to let go of Collins’ ass, round and perfect, to do it. The tips of his fingers keep running along the space between his cheeks, making them both shiver with it.

He feels impossibly good, warm and solid like he’s all around Farrier, wrapping him up from his toes to the end of his cock.

The sounds are the best part, spilling out of him like he’s helpless to stop them. He’d never been this loud before, this desperate.

It fills Farrier with a sick sort of pride, the evidence that Collins hasn’t done this in a while, maybe not since they parted ways. With a man anyway.

Likely he’s got a bird somewhere, his wife or soon to be. Proud to be married to a hero. Collins deserves that, someone to go home to.

It breaks his concentration a little, his focus not what it was inside a Spitfire. Collins nearly slips out of his grasp, and he has to push him back against the door to get a better grip.

They crash against it and he sends a thought to the Unlistening Almighty that they won’t fall out and break their necks.

But all that happens is that Collins’ back arches with a moan directly into his ear and a thump against the wood.

But Farrier’s hands are too slick and he shifts them to his thighs, still so pale, squeezing tightly, and something in Collins’ breathing changes.

It’s too sharp, _pained,_ and he does still now, starting to pull away.

“No!” Collins shouts, scrambling to keep him close. “No, please. I want...I want to feel it. Please”.

 _To feel you afterward_ he doesn’t say, but Farrier blood boils anyway and he pushes back inside.

Collins is hotter than a furnace and impossibly tight. He’ll feel him alright, there’s bruises starting to bloom under his hands already. Collins will just have to think of some lie to tell his girl.

It’s madness. And he can’t stop. He can only give him exactly what he wants, his body moving with a mind of its own.

Even so, with his muscles strong from working every day and with three meals to fuel him, he can feel the strain in his arms and his back. He’ll be sore tomorrow and it’s another victory, his own reminder that he did have Collins. If only for a little while.

He owes him this, at least, even if he won’t let Farrier be tender or take his time. But he deserves that, he supposes.

The only reason he can do this, take both their weights and movement, is that there isn’t a mark on him. His body is whole.

The worst of it had been hunger, towards the end of the war, but even then he hadn’t been starved. Not like the blokes in the newsreels, sunken eyed and gaunt. He’s perfectly untouched. Physically, anyway.

He hates it.

He buries his face in Collins neck, hiding away, pressing his lips there over and over, tasting his sweat. He’s still so _loud_ , open and wanton and needy. He fancies he can even hear a few aborted _T_ s in there, pretends they’re for _Thomas_.

Farrier breathes against Collins’ hair, he smells so good he can’t be real, thinks of whispering _Finlay_. But he doesn’t, because he’d never done it before and he can’t justify doing it now. Instead he nuzzles the blonde hair like he’s trying to crawl into it and drives his hips even harder.

Collins is close now, he can feel it. From the way his throat is working it won’t be long.

Farrier crowds them closer to the door, still praying that it won’t give out. He can feel his own climax building somewhere at the base of his spine but he doesn’t care.

He wants Collins to come first, to be shuddering and sensitive when he fills him up.

“That’s it, love” he whispers, dragging his tongue along the shell of his ear.

Collins shouts something, some mangled plea to God or the Devil or Farrier himself and shoots hot and wet between them. The shirt’s got no hope now.

Farrier thrusts once, twice and he’s done for. He’d kept his lips clamped shut, scared of what he might let slip out.

Collins’ legs turn to jelly, slipping off of Farrier’s hips.

He slides out awkwardly, overly slick. He hopes there’s no blood. He doesn’t think he could stand the sight.

Collins presses his forehead to Farrier’s, arms still around his neck. His eyes are closed, lips tight. There’s a silver line of unshed tears on his lashes.

He sighs and Farrier’s eyes slide shut too. He wants to stay in the moment. For just a little bit longer, God, please.

If he could spend years in the camps he could have this for a second, half a second, more. His hands tremble uselessly at Collins’ hips, his mouth working with things he doesn’t know how to say.

He can’t hear anything but his heartbeat and their breathing, harsh and overly loud.

“I’m sorry” Collins whispers eventually.

His eyes open and find Collins’ impossibly blue ones. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I know that’s not what you wanted” he says after Farrier’s long silence. His accent’s gone thick.

“What I want is you. In any way I can have you” he confesses, the words dropping out of him like stones.

After a moment, Collins smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from 'Be My Baby' and I suggest listening to [this version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P9d8yUcRsMc). It's oddly fitting.


End file.
